<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>cacophony by mzyz</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927099">cacophony</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzyz/pseuds/mzyz'>mzyz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kyoya Won't Let Himself Be Happy: The Fanfiction, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Break Up, pianist tamaki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:33:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzyz/pseuds/mzyz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>“are you going to break my heart again, kyoya?”</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>after 6 years of being broken up, a chance encounter and a piano concerto offers kyoya and tamaki a second chance
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi! this is kinda my first time writing kyotama even tho i love them a lot a lot a lot so it might be a little ooc but i really hope you enjoy!!</p><p>notes:<br/>- tamaki and haruhi never get together in this au<br/>- tamaki becomes a famous pianist and kyoya goes to work as an executive in the ootori group<br/>- this is set 6 years after canon, they are both 24 !!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In hindsight, Kyoya should’ve known or at least figured it out somewhere in between receiving the invitation and sitting down at the venue.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how it had managed to slip past him but when a business associate invited him and a few others to a dinner and classical music concerto, he couldn’t refuse. He was climbing the ranks of his father’s business, fighting tooth and nail everyday and loving it. So he seized every opportunity that came his way, especially because the business associate in question had previously expressed interest in a partnership.</p><p>He’d started the day in his apartment, only fully awake thanks to already-brewed coffee his personal assistant, Meiko-san, had left waiting for him on his dining room table. It packed a powerful punch when Kyoya took a sip, breathing in the rich aroma of the fancy Italian brew he so adored.</p><p>Then, a quick breakfast of toast and eggs that Meiko-san had also prepared for him.</p><p>Getting dressed and prepared for the day took, at most, 30 minutes when he had no distractions in his apartment to set him off his task. His place was smaller than the one his father had suggested buying for him, Kyoya opting for something closer to the office with less square-footage (but, by no means, any less expensive). He wasn’t quite sure why he’d made that decision but something about a large house with just him turned him off to the idea.</p><p>His driver arrived right on time (Kyoya had no patience for people that weren’t punctual, making it crystal clear to anyone he hired), the ride to the office only 15 minutes.</p><p>His shiny black dress shoes clicked against the marble floors as he entered the lobby, bringing a finger up to straighten his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his briefcase snug beneath his arm. A chorus of different variations of “<em>Good morning, Ootori-san</em>,” rung out and he nodded, polite but curt, back.</p><p>Meiko-san met him by the elevator when he’d made his way up to the top floor and walked with him to the back, where his private office was.</p><p>She chatted idly about the day, detailing the calls he had to make, the paperwork he had to fill out and the meetings he had lined up. As she talked, like he did everyday, Kyoya found himself being reminded of Fujioka Haruhi. And that thought, alone, would leave a half, almost-smile tugging at the corner of his lips.</p><p>Meiko-san was, undeniably, a very good assistant.</p><p>Once he made his way to the office, sitting down behind his desk and unpacking his fancy leather briefcase (a gift from his eldest brother when he started at the company), Meiko spoke up.</p><p>“Oh and don’t forget, Kyoya-sama, you have dinner and a concert with the associates from the Shinomiya and Matsuno group. I’ll have the car pick you up at 6:30 pm, sharp.”</p><p>Kyoya nodded his head, in affirmation. Then, after a brief pause, he asked, “What type of concert is it, again?”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Meiko tapped a finger to her chin and glancing up at the ceiling, racking her brain to remember. She snapped her fingers, then, “Ah, yes, it’s a piano concerto.”</p><p>Kyoya felt his eyes widening, just a little, his heart pinching in his ribcage in the way he hated most. Nostalgia, he maintained, was for fools.</p><p>Nonetheless, he let out an airy chuckle, devoid of any mirth.</p><p><em>Piano</em>.</p><p>“I see. Very well, you may go now.”</p><p> </p><p>The night was long and dinner had been a success (although the steak had been a little dry and he’d definitely had better sake in his relatively short life). Kyoya maintained the calm, happy, businessman demeanor he always did, chatting about company affairs and using every tactic he knew to get them on the Ootori side with a pleasant grin.</p><p>When they arrived at the concerto and took their seats, he’d glanced down at the program to see an all-too-familiar name, typed up in fonts bigger than the rest. That was when the night went from manageable to a disaster. His heart wrenched in his chest, stomach dropping to the deepest pits of his gut.</p><p>Suoh Tamaki.</p><p><em>Suoh Tamaki</em>.</p><p>The name rung in Kyoya’s ear, loud enough that he dropped his put-together facade in exchange for wide eyes and an agape mouth.</p><p>Right then, before Kyoya had time to fully reconcile the name he’d just read, the lights began to dim and heavy footsteps reverberated in the concert hall. Kyoya’s eyes drifted upwards just in time to see a fully-grown Tamaki, walking across the stage with his chin up and an easy smile.</p><p>The applause upon his arrival to the stage was drowned out by the sound of Kyoya’s heart beating, blood rushing into his ears, a horrible ringing.</p><p>
  <em>Suoh Tamaki.</em>
</p><p>When he sat down at the piano and began to play, slender fingers sliding across the ivory keys like butter in a pan, Kyoya could practically felt himself aging backwards. His three-piece suit suddenly squeezed tighter around him, morphing into a violet school uniform. The concert hall no longer felt like a concert hall but, rather, Music Room Three and it was the end of the day, sun setting as a pinkish-orange background, just him and Tamaki. And the piano.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>“Kyoya,” Tamaki had practically purred. Kyoya’s shoulder burned where it touched Tamaki’s, their bodies pressed up against each other. The piano bench definitely wasn’t made for two teenage boys to sit on but damn it, if they didn’t try.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes, Tamaki?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tamaki didn’t look at Kyoya as they talked, gaze fixed on the keys as they danced across the board, playing Kyoya’s favorite Mozart composition, Symphony no. 40, practically a muscle memory ingrained in Tamaki’s quick, slender fingers.</em>
</p><p><em> Once, Kyoya had asked why Tamaki played Symphony 40 so much and Tamaki’s answer with quick and easy, ‘</em>because I know it’s your favorite.’</p><p>
  <em> The sun filtered in through the thin pink curtains that covered the windows, doing little to shield from the light. It cast its shadows along the walls and columns surrounding Music Room Three, dancing a waltz along to the music. Kyoya felt his eyes fluttering closed like something deep inside his subconscious and out of his control was trying to feel this moment and store it in his long-term memory for later. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kyoya, I…—“ Tamaki cut himself off with a low, guttural chuckle. Shaking his head, he backtracked. Kyoya would be lying if he said he didn’t know what Tamaki wanted to say. So when the blonde said “We should stay like this a little longer,” instead, Kyoya was grateful.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kyoya opened his eyes, turning his head to stare at Tamaki and his carefully sculpted face with finely drawn features, like some sort of Adonis from a distant star. If he didn’t know the true idiocy and childish nature of Suoh Tamaki, he would’ve felt just as deluded as the girls who came to the club, fawning over the handsome prince, clamoring for just a second of his attention.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kyoya felt very little most of the time, walking through the world with a calculating nature. A realist, if you will. An egoist, he liked to say. Always knowing what to say and how to work people to his advantage like a skilled puppet-master. And yet, when it came to Tamaki, he felt things he once thought were impossible to experience. It was odd for Kyoya, feeling such a vexing fondness (if that fondness was actually love, he wouldn’t have known… no, he wouldn’t have admitted it).</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hmmph,” Kyoya had hummed, closing his eyes again. Savoring something inside himself. “I don’t recall saying anything about leaving.”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>That had been the last time Kyoya heard Tamaki play the piano, a serene scene that took place towards the end of the last year at Ouran, an eternity ago. If Kyoya was asked to recall it, he might’ve believed it was some sort of twisted dream that never truly happened, had it not been for the way he felt when it did. That sickly sort of adoration that scared him back then— scares him <em>still</em>— like he never wanted Tamaki to leave. That sensation had been too raw, too real, for the moment to have been a delusion.</p><p><em>How foolish, </em>he thought.</p><p>He wasn’t in Ouran anymore. He wasn’t with Tamaki anymore. He was here, in this concert hall, on a strictly business affair. He knew those facts yet, <em>still</em>, something terribly childish within him had him reeling.</p><p>Though he was on the balcony, a great distance away from Tamaki, he studied the man to the best of his abilities. He was older now, face more mature, but still maintained that ‘boyish charm’ aura that sold many-a-photobook. He still liked to close his eyes when he played, Kyoya remembered how he’d said it helped him “<em>feel the music</em>” or something equally as moronic.</p><p><em>A shame</em>, Kyoya vaguely thought, <em>I would’ve liked to see those eyes.</em></p><p>Then, after a moment of thought, he corrected himself. <em>No, that wouldn’t be good…seeing those eyes</em>.</p><p>The concert went on for about 45 minutes but Kyoya wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone, he’d spent the duration of that time feeling lost and drowning in memories he’d spent oh-so-long trying to repress. Time slowed in that sense.</p><p>He cursed at himself. It had taken almost 6 years to push Tamaki and Ouran down into the pits of his mind where it surely wouldn’t spring up and affect him yet only a 45 minute concerto to undo all of that work.</p><p>And when Tamaki’s fingers left the keys, falling to his side, Kyoya was even <em>more</em> mad. Instead of relief that it was over, he felt rather gutted.</p><p>Tamaki stood up, bowing and waving to the audience with a smile. He got a standing ovation, of course, because that was the type of musician he was. But, had it not been for his associates standing up next to him, bringing him back to Earth with their clapping, Kyoya might’ve stayed glued to the seat forever.</p><p>Slowly, he rose to his feet, as well, and began to clap.</p><p>Now, he got a full-body view of Tamaki; tuxedo hugging his stature in all the right ways. Kyoya might’ve laughed at the way Tamaki was soaking up the applause and raucous cheering, the joy of attention written all over his face. Typical.</p><p>As Tamaki waved, those striking violet eyes drifted up to the balcony area and Kyoya swore, just for a split second, his grin faltered.</p><p><em>Did he see me</em>? Kyoya wondered, his hands stilling and dropping to his side.</p><p>Tamaki walked off the stage and Kyoya observed that his movements were slightly stiffer than when he’d first come out, legs tense. And that was the last time Kyoya thought he were to see of Tamaki, someone once so close but now so foreign to him. Distantly far away, where he belonged in Kyoya's life.</p><p>He didn’t think he felt sadness (he couldn’t really remember that feeling) but his gut churned in a way that he couldn’t quite place but certainly made him uneasy.</p><p>“He truly is amazing,” one of the men, Okino-san, said as they all filed out of the concert hall, walking towards the stairwell.</p><p>“It’s no wonder he rose the ranks of prestige so quickly, his music truly makes you feel something.”</p><p>Kyoya could’ve laughed at that, bitter. <em>You have no idea</em>.</p><p>Another, Yagi-san, turned to Kyoya. “What did you think, Ootori-san?”</p><p>Kyoya opened his mouth to reply when a woman came rushing over to them, tapping Kyoya on the shoulder. “Are you Ootori Kyoya-sama?”</p><p>“I am,” he replied, mouth feeling unexplainably dry.</p><p>“Suoh-sama requests your presence in his dressing room. If you’d please come with me, that would be greatly appreciated.”</p><p>Kyoya blinked twice, lips parting in surprise. <em>Ah</em>, his mind supplied for him, <em>so he </em>had<em> seen me.</em></p><p>He turned to the group of men, bowing his head in apology, a forced smile painted over his tautly-drawn lips. “Please excuse me for the night. Thank you for the lovely evening and I hope to be in contact with you all soon.”</p><p><em>Why am I doing this</em>, he thought as he walked away before he could hear the other men’s responses, following the woman, <em>what’s wrong with me? Walking away from a potential end-of-the-night deal? This isn’t like me at all</em>.</p><p>Part of him wanted to break away from the woman and go back. Back where the associates were and, more importantly, where Tamaki <em>wasn’t</em> but his feet wouldn’t stop moving, body weaving in and out of concert-goers towards the dressing room.</p><p>
  <em>This is madness.</em>
</p><p><em> This is madness and I shouldn’t be here</em>.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>The woman stopped next to a door. A sign neatly labeled with ‘Suoh Tamaki-sama’ hung on it and Kyoya despised the flips that his heart did, aching in his chest.</p><p>“He’s waiting for you in there.”</p><p>Kyoya thanked the woman before she excused herself, wrapping his fingers around the metal doorknob. He hesitated for just a split-second before twisting it and pushing the door in.</p><p>And there he was.</p><p>Suoh Tamaki, Kyoya’s first and only love, sitting in a chair with one leg crossed over the other and leaning back, in front of a mirror, fiddling with his bowtie. Up-close, Kyoya could see that his blonde hair was gelled back rather than the loose way it used to fall over his forehead in wisps of sunshine.</p><p>When he heard the door open, Tamaki looked up and their eyes met for the first time in 6 long years.</p><p>“I <em>knew</em> it was you!” was the first thing Tamaki said, voice still sounding like crisp bells against a summer sky. He let out a laugh, carefree and airy and the opposite of any laugh Kyoya would ever be able to produce. He stood up from the chair, rushing towards Kyoya in 2 quick strides, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Kyoya! It’s been so long!”</p><p>Kyoya felt like all the wind was being knocked out of him. Slowly and unsurely, his hands made their way to Tamaki’s back, the smooth fabric of the tuxedo against his fingertips setting his nerves over the edge.</p><p>He smelled like lavender, Kyoya noticed. Lavender and honey.</p><p>“Yes,” he replied, hoping his voice wasn’t wavering as much as he thought it was. “It has been awhile.”</p><p>A few more seconds ticked by.</p><p>Kyoya cleared his throat. “Tamaki.”</p><p>A few more seconds, Tamaki showing no signs of letting Kyoya go.</p><p>“Tamaki…” he tried again. “You can let go of me.”</p><p>“Ah.” Kyoya felt Tamaki give him one squeeze, tight, before he dropped his arms and Kyoya pulled away. “Sorry, <em>haha</em>.”</p><p>Tamaki rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. He didn’t look Kyoya in the eye, gaze set towards the floor, as he smiled. The smile was so earnest, excited just to <em>see</em> Kyoya, and a far cry from his face the last time Kyoya had seen Tamaki.</p><p>“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Kyoya,” Tamaki finally looked up, still maintaining his 1000-watt-smile despite the sentiment being rather heartbreaking. “So imagine my surprise when I look up and there you were, on the balcony! My heart almost stopped beating!”</p><p>Kyoya let out a soft chuckle, low and reserved. “Well, imagine <em>my</em> surprise when I saw your name on the program.”</p><p>Tamaki tilted his head in confusion, ridiculously long eyelashes batting as he blinked, rapidly. “Wait… you didn’t seek me out, hoping to hear my lovely music?”</p><p>“Ah,” Kyoya teased, uneasily falling back into the old banter he and Tamaki used to have, a familiar push and pull of witty words with a sharp flick of his tongue. “Glad to see you’re still delusional as ever.”</p><p>He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “No, some business colleagues invited me out to dinner and a show.”</p><p>A light bout of laughter escaped Tamaki’s lips. “And here I thought Kyoya was looking for me or something.”</p><p><em>I’d never</em>, Kyoya couldn’t help but think<em>, not after the way things ended. </em>Kyoya’s undeniable pride and conscience would never have allowed for a reunion with Tamaki, just the notion was unthinkable in his mind.</p><p>“I believe <em>you</em> were the one who sought after me, no? Sending that lady to come and find me.”</p><p>“Well I thought,” Tamaki shot back, “since Kyoya came all the way to see lil’ old me, I should be graceful and invite him to the dressing room to reconnect.”</p><p>Kyoya diverted the conversation. “You’re still living in Tokyo?”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Tamaki answered, sitting back down and gesturing to the chair next to him for Kyoya to the same. Kyoya complied. “I live part-time in France and part-time here. But I’m on tour right now, just passing through Japan until I go on to Europe so I won’t be here for long. Just a couple more days; I’m doing a few more concerts in this venue.”</p><p>“I see,” Kyoya nodded. “Are you enjoying it?”</p><p>“I am!” Tamaki’s tone was delighted. “It’s so nice to see the world and, oh Kyoya, traveling has done <em>wonders</em> for my skin!”</p><p>They chatted, idly, like that for some time. The uneasiness was still prevalent in Kyoya’s stomach, though. As he stared at this new, aged-up Suoh Tamaki, he couldn’t stop picturing this vision of a future he never got. A life he denied, 6 years back when he’d called Tamaki into Music Room Three on the day of graduation. He hated it. He hated that vision so much.</p><p>More, though, he hated that he wanted to <em>do</em> something about it. It was complete nonsense, that idea. They were done, no longer dating or in any sort of relationship, yet Kyoya, seeing the way Tamaki’s eyes shone when he first stepped into the dressing room, felt compelled to somehow fix things between them.</p><p><em>We owe each other nothing</em>, Kyoya reminded himself but it did little to convince him or quell the fears, creeping into his gut.</p><p>“Do you keep in touch with anyone from high school?” Tamaki asked. Kyoya could’ve cursed Tamaki out right there.</p><p><em>Damn you</em>, he thought, <em>for lacking enough tact to bring up high school. </em>Leave it to Tamaki to carelessly bring up the subject Kyoya so gingerly tiptoed around.</p><p>“Sometimes,” Kyoya responded, trying his best to sound blasé. He sipped the tea that Tamaki had requested in the middle of their conversation, the cup warm in his palm, “The twins reach out from time to time. Morinozuka, as well.”</p><p>“Ah,” Tamaki drawled, leaning back in his chair, the legs tipping precariously. “Same with me. I talk to Haruhi a lot, too.”</p><p>“Oh?” Kyoya raised an eyebrow, a smile from crossing his lips as he thought of his unlikely kouhai from back then. “And how is she?”</p><p>“She’s great! Cute as ever! She grew her hair out and everything! We met up for lunch just yesterday when I arrived in Japan. She’s studying law like she intended,” Tamaki welled with that ‘fatherly’ pride he always used to claim he had. “You should <em>see</em> her Kyoya, it’s incredible!”</p><p>As Tamaki chattered away, Kyoya stared at him over the rim of his cup, studying his face. He rarely allowed himself to think about high school and downright <em>forbidding</em> himself from thinking about Tamaki but, being here with him in the dressing room, just talking, dug up those buried memories.</p><p>He thought about the kotatsu he’d been forced to buy for Tamaki and the winter nights they’d spent doing the same thing that they were now, just talking and existing in each other's presence. Back then, he’d felt that childish love.</p><p>Now, he felt upset at himself. For many things. For the uneasiness and for wanting to fix things but also because he felt <em>happy</em>. He actually felt <em>happy</em>. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed Tamaki. And it disgusted him.</p><p>“Oh,” Tamaki looked down at his Rolex wristwatch that no doubt cost a fortune. “Look at the time.” He let out that laugh that sounded like bells once more. “We’ve talked so long, I completely lost track of it.”</p><p>Kyoya blinked. He had too. He glanced down at his own flabbergastingly expensive watch and saw that the hands reached out towards midnight. <em>Had it been that long?</em></p><p>“I should probably head home,” Kyoya murmured.</p><p>“Me too,” Tamaki agreed. “Let’s at least walk out together, okay? Let me grab my things.”</p><p>Kyoya watched through veiled eyes and Tamaki pulled on a dark single-breasted cashmere coat and ran a hand through his hair, musing it up and disrupting the gel, causing a few strands to fall loose over his forehead, further reminding Kyoya of a 16-year-old Tamaki, charming as ever with the biggest presence in any room he was in.</p><p>“Alright,” Tamaki stood up, pulling a cross-body bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”</p><p>As they walked through the now empty venue, Tamaki turned and gave Kyoya a one-over with his eyes, saying “Kyoya, you look so much more mature now. I always knew you’d grow up to be handsome.”</p><p>Kyoya— Kyoya who <em>always</em> had a well-calculated response for anything thrown his way, the <em>master</em> of composure— didn’t know how to respond so he simply hummed a sweet note of dismissal and looked ahead.</p><p>Once they walked down the velvet-lined staircase, lights dim, and reached the lobby, a few people called out a '<em>goodnight</em>' to Tamaki, who responded with a charismatic smile (the same one he used when he used to walk down the halls of Ouran Academy) and a wave. Kyoya could’ve rolled his eyes. Some things never change.</p><p>They stepped out into the streets, Kyoya turning on his phone to call his driver. The night sky was dark, blanketing the cold streets that shook with an early March chill. It enveloped the two of them, the only light coming from a few flickering lampposts, setting the street aglow with a dusty yellow hue.</p><p>As Kyoya pressed his phone to his ear, the cool screen hitting his cheek, he felt Tamaki’s eyes watching him as he spoke to his driver, violet hues dancing in his irises.</p><p>“I’ll wait with you,” Tamaki offered, once Kyoya hung up.</p><p>“Oh,” Kyoya waved him off in dismissal. <em>Please don’t</em>. “That’s not necessary.”</p><p>The last thing Kyoya wanted to do was act on those impulses to make things better that had been plaguing him the whole night (the last thing he wanted to do was cling onto those fruitless scraps of undeserving happiness) and he feared that Tamaki staying with him would only provoke him further.</p><p>In a perfect world, he and Tamaki would part ways here. They’d give some fleeting promise to stay in contact that would never be kept and Kyoya would regard the night as merely some almost-fantasy to comfort him if he ever allowed his thoughts to drift back to Such Tamaki, his former lover.</p><p>That’s what Kyoya wanted, <em>he was sure of it</em>. Unfortunately, if he’d learned anything in his teenage years, Tamaki was never so agreeable.</p><p>“Kyoya,” Tamaki’s voice dropped, oddly serious. “I <em>want</em> to.”</p><p>Kyoya breathed out a long-suffering sigh, closing his eyes and folding his arms on his chest. “Well, I suppose I can’t stop you. Do as you please.”</p><p>“<em>Yay</em>,” Tamaki cheered, clapping his hands lightly. They stood in silence for a little while but, to Kyoya’s surprise, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Instead, it was a nostalgic, sort of familiar silence. The kind that wasn’t really silence but, rather, a pause and that only furthered those bad feelings, twisting and tugging at Kyoya’s chest. It was the kind of silence between old friends who never really left each other.</p><p>That wasn’t the kind of silence Kyoya hoped for.</p><p>The sound of tires, rolling up against the road, broke Kyoya out of his thoughts and Tamaki turned to him, eyelids scrunched up in something unreadable (something that betrayed that smile, painted on his rosy lips).</p><p>If Kyoya was dense, he’d claim he didn’t know what Tamaki was feeling but, alas, he was not. He never would be, he was rather intelligent, so he knew— Tamaki was sad. Tamaki was longing.</p><p>“I guess this is your ride,” Tamaki said, motioning to the car.</p><p>“I guess it is,” Kyoya agreed.</p><p>“<em>Ah</em>,” Tamaki rubbed the back of his neck again, looking down at the sidewalk beneath them. He looked bashful and upset, a telltale pink blush spreading across his cheeks and up his ears. “I’m really happy you came tonight.”</p><p>“I…” Kyoya paused for a second, faltering and unsure in the way only Tamaki could make him be. “I suppose I am too.”</p><p>Tamaki beamed brightly but his smile didn’t quite match the aura he was projecting into the space between them. “Goodbye… Kyoya.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Tamaki.”</p><p>He grabbed the handle of the car door tightly.</p><p><em>Don’t</em>, he warned himself. He could feel the words bubbling up inside his throat, forcing their way out of his lips. <em>Don’t. Don’t do it.</em></p><p>
  <em> Don’t do it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Letting him back into my life will just end in hurting him more. You can’t hurt him anymore.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Don’t do it.</em>
</p><p>“Would you like to come over to my apartment?” Kyoya blurted out, right as Tamaki had begun to turn and walk away. The blonde, upon hearing this, whipped his head back around to gawk at Kyoya.</p><p><em>Shit</em>, Kyoya cursed at himself. A harsh breeze swept over him, sending a shudder down Kyoya’s spine (or, perhaps it wasn’t really the cold that caused the shudder). “We… could have some wine and whatnot.”</p><p>This time, a genuine grin spread across Tamaki’s features. “Kyoya’s drinking on a work night? How irresponsible.” A pause. Then, “I’d love to come over.”</p><p>Kyoya didn’t say anything in response, just opened the passenger door and slid into the plush leather seats, Tamaki at his heels.</p><p>The concert hall was a half an hour drive away from Kyoya’s apartment but the two of them didn’t say much through the duration of the car ride. Kyoya busied himself with trying to ignore the way Tamaki stared out the windows with child-like wonder as if he hadn’t lived in Japan for nearly a decade at this point. The city lights were bright in contrast to the navy sky. They flickered and cast their shadows across Tamaki’s delicate, porcelain skin, limning the boy in a heavy golden glow.</p><p>Kyoya bit his bottom lip as he remembered all the other times they’d ridden home in the back of a limo together, after school. He remembered the restraint it had taken not to kiss each other, put their hands all over each other, the driver knowing even if they put up the divider. He remembered the way the anticipation was almost tangible, only exacerbated by the way Tamaki would rest his hand on Kyoya’s thigh, the touch prickling at Kyoya’s skin, feeling like needles through their school uniform.</p><p>He remembered how they’d leave the car in a hurry, rushing into Kyoya’s room, dodging through the Ootori Estate as they tried to not to be seen by the endless staff, and making out against the door as soon as it closed behind them.</p><p>Kyoya used to allow Tamaki to push him into the walls, his piano-playing fingers like magic as they crawled underneath Kyoya’s shirt, exploring his skin before tugging off his school uniform suit, tie and then shirt. The way—</p><p><em>Stop</em>, Kyoya reprimanded himself. <em>Don’t think about that.</em></p><p>He stole a glance at Tamaki, who was still staring out the window. He wanted to hate Tamaki for all the memories he brought back. For not letting Kyoya live a peaceful life and calling him into the dressing room (for <em>forgiving </em>him in the process), thrusting him back into all those feelings he’d sworn off, but he couldn’t. Hating Tamaki had always been impossible for Kyoya, even when he was just a middle schooler, angry and confused.</p><p>If anything, he hated himself. For what happened 6 years ago and for now, giving in to his worse impulses and stupidly letting Tamaki come <em>home</em> with him.</p><p>He <em>despised</em> not being in control of things and, tonight, it felt like he felt like something foreign was dictating his actions. Some kind of lost emotion was thrusting him into situations in which he had no control over.</p><p><em>How awful</em>.</p><p>They pulled into the entrance of Kyoya’s building, his driver getting out to open the door for him.</p><p>Kyoya thanked him, offering him a goodnight before he sped off. The two of them walked into the building, Kyoya leading the way. He lived in the penthouse, of course, with the private elevator.</p><p>“Wow,” Tamaki drawled as he stepped in, eyes wide. He kicked off his shoes in the entrance, bowing slightly out of courtesy. “Your place is so nice, Kyoya!”</p><p>“It’s alright,” Kyoya dismissed, shrugging off his coat as Tamaki began to explore the layout, flitting around with child-like glee. “I’m rarely here, anyway. Late nights in the office.”</p><p>“Oh, Kyoya,” Tamaki said, through a drawn-out sigh, flopping down on the large couch. “Still working so hard. Always clawing your way to the top.”</p><p>“There’s nothing more fun than that,” Kyoya reminded Tamaki, walking towards his wine cabinet, selecting a bottle of French Bordeaux and grabbing two glasses. Tamaki was sitting up on the couch when Kyoya reappeared with the wine, one arm slung over the back.</p><p>He laughed when he saw the bottle. “I always knew you’d grow up to be a wine connoisseur,” Tamaki told him. “I just had a feeling.”</p><p>Shrugging, Kyoya sat down next to him and began to score the cork foil with aknife, unscrewing the top with the corkscrew that he always kept on the coffee table, and pulling it open. He poured a generous amount into each cup and handed one to Tamaki.</p><p>The lights were dim in the living room and now, with the prelude of alcohol, Kyoya was starting to loosen up; the seed of urgency and frustration simmering down within him in the half-darkness with Tamaki and wine.</p><p>He stared at Tamaki over the rim of his cup, the overhead light catching the edge of the glass, wondering if Tamaki was going to say anything, And sure enough, he did.</p><p>“Y’know Kyoya,” Tamaki spoke up, slow and lazy like the words were sliding off his tongue, coated in honey or something equally as sugary. He swirled the wine glass between his slender fingers as he talked. “I think about high school a lot. The host club we started. Our friends.”</p><p>“Mm…”</p><p>“… Us.”</p><p><em>Ah</em>, Kyoya thought, <em>there it is</em>. Tamaki, of course, was the one to bring up the forbidden subject, to slash open the wound that had barely healed during those 6 years. Now it was bleeding and bubbling, gushing into the space between them. Their relationship, long dead but its memory still haunting them like a phantom presence.</p><p>Tamaki laughed into his glass, void of any mirth just some sort of sadness that Kyoya could only imagine.</p><p>A pause. The seconds crawled by and Kyoya refused to speak.</p><p>A few more seconds like a heart beating. Then, “Do you ever think of me, Kyoya?”</p><p>“No,” Kyoya decided to answer honestly but tersely. He knew if Tamaki pressed on, he’d say something he’d regret. Silently, he begged for Tamaki to drop the subject but, Tamaki being Tamaki, continued.</p><p>The blonde let out another laugh, face looking utterly crestfallen. “I see. That makes me kind of sad, <em>ha</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t allow myself to think about you,” Kyoya told him after a moment, unable to look Tamaki in the eye, opting to stare out of the window beside them. He couldn’t stop the regret, the hurt, the emotions he never dealt with, from spilling out in front of him. He didn’t even have it in him to stop.</p><p>“You didn’t play Mozart’s Symphony 40 tonight.”</p><p>“I don’t play that symphony anymore,” Tamaki whispered, voice cracking like it had the day of graduation. “It was your favorite.”</p><p>“It was,” Kyoya agreed. “It was best when you played it, though.”</p><p>Tamaki was silent at that.</p><p>“Tamaki, I—“</p><p>Kyoya was cut off by Tamaki’s lips, lurching forward to catch Kyoya in a kiss. Kyoya’s eyes shot open in surprise and the only coherent thought running through his mind was <em>he tastes exactly as I remember</em>. Exactly as he had, all those years ago. Like vanilla and mint and blind kindness.</p><p>Pulling away, Tamaki gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth. His lavender eyes were as big as saucers, looking wild and shocked at his own actions. Kyoya could do nothing but stare back, hating the way he immediately missed those lips now that they were gone from his own. Hating the way their absence left a burning sensation on Kyoya’s mouth, aching and tingling for more contact.</p><p>
  <em>More. More. More.</em>
</p><p>“Kyoya, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even—“</p><p>This time, it was Kyoya who cut Tamaki off, ignoring the millions of sirens going off in his head, kissing Tamaki with a fervor he’d forgotten he was even capable of feeling.</p><p>Tamaki kissed back immediately, cupping Kyoya’s jaw in one hand and running his hand through Kyoya’s hair, fingers pressed to his scalp, with the other. Kyoya settled for placing his hands along Tamaki’s hips, grabbing at them as the kiss deepened.</p><p>It was open-mouthed and urgent like they were making up for lost time or trying, desperately, to regain old comfort in these new, aged-up bodies of theirs.</p><p><em>Don’t do this</em>, the rational part of his brain warned as it had been doing all night. <em>This is a mistake.</em></p><p>Kyoya almost gasped when Tamaki slid his tongue into Kyoya’s parted lips, drawing skillful figure 8s in Kyoya’s mouth. It was electric and delicious and Kyoya struggled to keep up. Then, he dragged his tongue across the bottom of Kyoya’s lip, nipping it playfully.</p><p>Slowly, Tamaki traveled down to Kyoya’s neck, biting at it, his breath hot against Kyoya’s skin, giving him goosebumps that prickled and spread across his whole body.</p><p>“Tamaki,” Kyoya managed to gasp out as Tamaki sucked on a particularly sensitive patch of skin, just below Kyoya’s ear. Again, “<em>Tamaki</em>.”</p><p>“Yes?” Tamaki was breathless, lifting his head to stare into Kyoya’s eyes.</p><p>He was beautiful, the only person Kyoya’s ever loved. The only one who’s ever kissed Kyoya in that way and made him feel things beyond the surface level of observation. He hadn’t remembered what it was like to never want someone to stop touching him.</p><p>“Let’s… go to the bedroom.” Kyoya murmured. They stumbled into Kyoya’s master bedroom, practically tripping over each other as Kyoya tugged off Tamaki’s bowtie and Tamaki struggled to undo the buttons of Kyoya’s dress shirt. It was a messy, uncoordinated dance but somehow, as their bodies collapsed onto the plush mattress, they’d both managed to become shirtless.</p><p>“Ah,” Tamaki’s voice was husky and low but still held that joy he was always able to incite in others.He boxed Kyoya down to the mattress, feet still planted on the floor in front of the bed. Kyoya’s hands were unusually clumsily as they made their best effort to unbutton Tamaki’s satin trousers. “You’re so gorgeous, Mommy-dear. Just like I remember.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that silly nickname,” Kyoya complained. <em>We’re not in high school anymore</em>.</p><p>Tamaki just laughed in response before he resumed kissing, littering Kyoya’s neck with love bites and slowly making his way further down, tongue gliding over Kyoya’s collarbone and upper chest.</p><p>“What? You’re not going to call me Daddy?” he asked as his fingers grazed over Kyoya’s nipple, tweaking it, before they slid down Kyoya’s sides.</p><p>“I’d sooner die than call you that.” </p><p>Kyoya knew this was the worst course of action he, <em>they</em>, could’ve taken and he wished, wildly, that the night had never happened. That by some miracle, he’d turned down the offer despite it being completely out of character. Because, being kissed by Tamaki, made him feel loved by the blonde. And he didn’t want to feel anything of the sort.</p><p>Yet, selfishly, he’d do nothing to stop it.</p><p>“You know,” Tamaki whispered, as he swiftly pulled Kyoya’s pants down to his ankles. When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva still connected their lips and Tamaki swiped the edge of his thumb across Kyoya’s bottom lip, wiping it away. “I never got to tell you I loved you, back in high school. I think that’s what I regret the most.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have said it back,” Kyoya managed to gasp out as Tamaki busied his hands with something more lewd, pawing at Kyoya’s crotch.</p><p>“I know,” Tamaki replied, sounding a little sad despite the situation at hand being anything but he still grinned at Kyoya, in spite of himself. “I still wished I had said it. Maybe it would’ve helped during those 6 years.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Kyoya mused. He wondered, vaguely and foolishly, if his heart was beating as loud as he thought it was. If Tamaki could hear it, slamming intensely in his ribcage, gushing blood and love and all the things he’d didn’t know he still had the ability to feel. If it felt gooey and warm when Tamaki pressed his fingers to Kyoya’s chest, right above it, his emotions seeping into Tamaki’s touch. “But I doubt it.”</p><p>“Let’s just agree to disagree.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>“Oh! Kyoya,” Tamaki had said, stepping in through the entrance of Music Room Three. His footsteps reverberated through the hollow walls as he walked towards where Kyoya stood, next to the grand piano.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Thanks for coming,” Kyoya replied curtly, pressing a hand down to the glossy finish of the piano lid. He hadn’t wanted to look Tamaki in the eye, staring daggers down at the floor in front of him. It hurt. Kyoya couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt such pain, squeezing at his chest. Probably not. He hadn’t remembered ever feeling emotions like happiness or sorrow before he’d met Tamaki, back in their second year of middle school. He probably wouldn’t feel those emotions, going forward, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tamaki had let out a wistful sigh, blissfully unaware of what was about to come. “Can you believe we graduated today? It doesn’t seem real, does it? Where did the time go, huh, Kyoya?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kyoya didn’t reply, just gritted his teeth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kyoya?” The sense of something being wrong finally rose in Tamaki, his tone carrying a worried lilt. His eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Are you alright?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I think,” Kyoya started, wanting so bad not to say the words he could never take back, “we should end this.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wha—?” Tamaki’s voice cracked a little in realization of Kyoya’s intentions, calling him to the Host Club’s room right after their graduation, the pieces starting to click in Tamaki’s head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I think it would be most beneficial for both of us if we ended our relationship now,” Kyoya pressed on, voice strangely steady considering the tumultuous emotions that were being tossed in his stomach. He felt like he could vomit. Still, he continued. “We’re going to get older and begin working, it’s time we leave this silly, outgrown relationship before it starts to hinder us.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kyoya,” Tamaki had sounded broken and Kyoya balled up his fist at that. “I know you don’t mean that.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry,” Kyoya replied. “It’s for the best.” He turned and had begun to head for the door, biting down on his bottom lip as he brushed past Tamaki on his way out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then, suddenly, he’d felt Tamaki’s hand reach out, fingers curling around Kyoya’s wrist. Tamaki yanked Kyoya towards him, Kyoya’s body stumbling back. Falling to his knees, Tamaki had wrapped his arms around Kyoya’s waist, squeezing him and refusing to let go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Don’t do this, Kyoya,” Tamaki pleaded, burying his face into Kyoya’s stomach, right where his navel was.</em>
</p><p>Stop<em>, Kyoya had silently begged.</em> Please stop<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em> “Don’t make this harder than it is, Tamaki,” Kyoya chastised, trying to pull away.</em>
</p><p><em> “Don’t do this Kyoya,” Tamaki repeated, more emphatically. Kyoya felt Tamaki crying on his stomach, a pool of wetness growing on his uniform shirt, and the sting of tears prickled at Kyoya’s own eyes but he refused to let them fall. “</em>Please<em>.”</em></p><p>
  <em> “I have to,” Kyoya had told him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No!” cried out Tamaki, his shout piercing Kyoya’s eardrums in the most painful way possible. His shoulder shook with sobs that racked his whole body, desperation clawing at Tamaki’s mind. Kyoya hated every second of it. “No, you don’t have to.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m sorry,” Kyoya had whispered, voice rough. That time, when he pushed Tamaki’s arms away, he was met with no resistance. They fell to Tamaki’s side, weakly, and Kyoya found himself wildly missing the touch.</em>
</p><p>This is for the best. This is for the best. This is for the best.</p><p><em> As he made his way to the door, hand pressed against the skillfully carved wood to leave, he heard one last “</em>Please<em>,” leave Tamaki’s trembling lips.</em></p><p>
  <em> Kyoya, against his better judgment, had turned his head to take what he’d thought would be the last glance at Tamaki, ever.</em>
</p><p>He’s still beautiful,<em> Kyoya remembered thinking, </em>even when he’s crying<em>, because it would have been too painful to think about anything else. </em></p><p>
  <em> Since that day, Kyoya never let himself wonder what could’ve happened if he walked back towards Tamaki instead of out the door like he had. He never let his mind wander towards that possibility because he knew that exploring the what-ifs would only send him into a spiral of despair. He never allowed himself to think of that day. To think of Tamaki. Even if it took 6 years to push the memories away.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Kyoya was exhausted once they’d finished, multiple rounds being pounded into his un-practiced muscles, leaving him soaking in fatigue and afterglow. Tamaki, being the princely gentleman he always was (or at least he claimed to be), cleaned both of them up before sliding into the bed next to Kyoya,</p><p>Kyoya curled in on himself, just slightly, knees tucking in as Tamaki pressed his face to Kyoya’s neck, the crook of his nose jammed messily into Kyoya’s exposed skin. His breathing was heavy and his blonde hair tickled the side of Kyoya’s face as it fell over in wisps, no longer restrained by the hair gel that had been long worn off, mostly due to Kyoya’s fingers, running through it and tugging at the locks. </p><p>Despite the notion of sleep that so appealed to Kyoya, making his eyelids heavy, he stayed awake long enough to hear Tamaki say, through barely parted lips and a raspy voice, “I love you, Kyoya. Don’t leave me again, please,” before a light snore left his parted lips and he’d fallen asleep.</p><p>Kyoya could’ve cried. Maybe he did. His insides were too messed up from the events of the night (from the sex, from seeing <em>Suoh Tamaki </em>again, a man he was sure he’d never lay eyes on again) to know for sure.</p><p><em> How cruel</em>, Kyoya thought, reaching behind him to card his fingers through Tamaki’s hair. It was soft against Kyoya’s touch like delicate corn flour, falling between the gaps of his fingers. <em>Asking me to do such frivolous things as that</em>.</p><p>He’d spent 3 years pushing Tamaki out of his mind and 3 more years living without the memory of Tamaki, without thinking of Tamaki’s kisses or smiles, and without feelings things like affection or heartache.</p><p>Now, Tamaki was back, thrusting Kyoya back into the world of these silly emotions and Kyoya was sure, if they continued like this, it would be forever.</p><p>He would absolutely not let that happen.</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Kyoya’s alarm automatically rung, waking the two of them. Tamaki let out a pained groan, long limbs still tangled around Kyoya underneath the plush comforter.</p><p>“<em>Nnnghh,” </em>he grumbled, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Turn it off, Kyoya.”</p><p>“I have to go to work,” Kyoya replied, not any happier than Tamaki to be so rudely awakened. Kyoya still was a terrible riser, grumpy, angry and out of sorts but he had responsibilities and places to be. When he sat up in bed, Tamaki still clung to his waist like a dead weight, nuzzling his face into Kyoya’s side; his cheeks were warm.</p><p>“Don’t go,” he whined as if he was a petulant child, the words that left his lips sent vibrations through Kyoya’s sensitive skin.</p><p>“Dumbass,” Kyoya chided, reaching over to flick Tamaki’s forehead (lightly but the blonde, in all his theatrics, still responded as if Kyoya had shot him). “We can’t all be as facetious with our time as you.”</p><p>He managed to break free of Tamaki’s admittedly tight hold, leaving the former a whining, pouting mess, spread out on the bed like a starfish. Meiko-san still made breakfast and coffee, the delicious scent of espresso wafting through the apartment and Kyoya thanked god she hadn’t ventured in and seen Tamaki.</p><p>His rear still ached terribly as he walked through the empty apartment, the cold winter mornings leaving the hardwood floors frigid against his bare feet but, taking the mug of coffee into his hands and breathing in the warmth was a good feeling.</p><p>He drank and ate quickly, this time it was miso soup and a rolled omelette, and made his way back into the bedroom, decidedly less grumpy upon being properly fed and caffeinated. He’d intended on telling Tamaki he could stay but, when he stepped into the room, he found the blonde, fast asleep again, <em>his</em> pillow pressed to Tamaki’s chest.</p><p>
  <em>How can he be so carefree? He hasn’t changed…</em>
</p><p>Sighing, he penned a quick note and left it on the nightstand before stepping into his walk-in closet, selecting his clothes for the day. As he packed up his briefcase, he took one last glance at the sleeping figure of Tamaki, beneath his blankets as if he belonged there.</p><p>His blonde hair spread out like a halo against the white pillowcase, eyes closed. He looked like a teenager again when he slept, wearing a sort of innocence that reminded Kyoya of the middler schooler transfer student he’d once greeted, with the intention of befriending, solely to please his father. The one that drove him nuts, dragging him to every inch of Japan that first month they’d known each other.</p><p>The one that’s piano playing moved Kyoya and his brothers to tears, forcefully shoving an emotion into Kyoya that he hadn’t known was a possibility to feel: the specific kind of melancholy that only came with falling in love someone. Hopelessly and irretrievably. Desperately.</p><p><em>I shouldn’t have let it go so far</em>, he thought, angrily. <em>Now I’m going to have to break his heart again. </em>The ‘<em>he doesn’t deserve it</em>’ didn’t cross his thoughts but Kyoya felt that sentiment, deep within his gut, anyway.</p><p>Turning his back, he walked away. The driver would be here any minute.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stay here as long as you’d like. DO NOT drink my wine or make a mess</em>
</p><p>
  <em> - Kyoya</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The day was long but, somehow, Kyoya got through due to sheer willpower and a brutal rejection of any thought remotely related to Tamaki, busying himself with more paperwork than necessary and a project proposal for a new business venture that he was sure his father would take him up on.</p><p>“Kyoya-sama,” Meiko called out, stepping into his office sometime around 3pm with her eyebrows knitted together. “Why don’t you take a break. You haven’t even eaten lunch yet.”</p><p>“No,” Kyoya replied, gritting his teeth but maintaining a pleasant tone. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>For a little while, he expected a text or phone call from the blonde he’d so carelessly left alone in his apartment before it dawned on him that they didn’t have each other’s contact information.</p><p>He left earlier than usual, some sort of anticipation bubbling inside his brain as the car got closer and closer to his house. He wondered, absentmindedly, if Tamaki decided to leave or stay. Part of him hoped he left, never to be seen again along with Kyoya’s woes but he knew he’s not so fortunate.</p><p>When he stepped into the apartment, he was met with a smile and those kind purple eyes.</p><p>“Welcome back,” Tamaki greeted, voice disgustingly warm as if the mere sight of Kyoya was enough to make him happy.</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to have a second concert tonight?” Kyoya asked, setting his stuff down and unwrapped the cashmere scarf, snug around his neck.</p><p>“I d0,” Tamaki drawled, gaze never leaving Kyoya as he entered the apartment, trailing the former’s every movement. “But I wanted to see you before I headed out.”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t act like we have a life together here. Don’t act like this is an everyday occurrence.</em>
</p><p>When Kyoya didn’t reply, Tamaki persisted. “How was your day?”</p><p>“Uneventful,” Kyoya told him, simply, sitting down on the couch beside Tamaki but keeping a fair enough distance. As Tamaki chatted about his day, talking about something or the other, Kyoya got that vision again, the same one he’d gotten when he’d first seen the adult Tamaki— the one of the life he never got. He despised the way it felt, thinking this could’ve been <em>their</em> apartment rather than Kyoya’s. Their couch. Their evening.</p><p>That life… it didn’t belong to Kyoya.</p><p>They sat there for a bit, Tamaki making a pot of tea but once the clock struck 6, Tamaki got up with a forlorn sigh, stretching out his long limbs before flashing Kyoya an award-winning grin. “I should probably head back to the venue. Would you like to come with me?”</p><p>“No,” Kyoya waved him off in dismissal, elbow propped up by his knee. “I’m fine here.”</p><p>“Alright,” Tamaki replied, smile not faltering. Instead, he crossed over to where Kyoya sat and, before the Kyoya had any time to react or process the situation, Tamaki leaned down to connect their lips together in a sweet kiss. It wasn’t like the ones from the previous night, urgent and aroused. Instead, it was seeping with domesticity and love. Tamaki reached over to hook his finger below Kyoya’s jaw, using his other hand to brush back a few loose strands of black hair and cup it.</p><p>When they broke apart, Tamaki just beamed and pressed his forehead to Kyoya’s for a few seconds. “I’ll see you later, okay?”</p><p>With that, he walked out of the door leaving Kyoya to wonder what exactly had just transpired.</p><p>His lips burned where Tamaki had kissed them and, absently, Kyoya reached a hand up to press his fingers to them. And minutes later, as he sat there, perfectly still, he could still feel Tamaki’s kiss even though the blonde was long gone.</p><p> </p><p>Tamaki was late coming back, Kyoya already in bed when he heard the blonde slip in through the front door, rather noisily, the sound of his footsteps rousing Kyoya from his sleep. His dark eyelashes fluttered as he squinted in the darkness, his vision blurry without his glasses but he was still able to make out Tamaki’s figure, stripping himself of his concert clothes before sliding underneath the covers next to Kyoya.</p><p>“How’d you get in?” Kyoya asked, voice heavy with sleep he was so rudely denied.</p><p>“Took the spare key you had lying around your kitchen,” Tamaki replied, throwing an arm around Kyoya’s shoulders. Kyoya shuddered, involuntarily, at the contact. He smelled like fancy cologne that surely had been sprayed on him for the performance and Kyoya was thrown into a far off memory—one he had been sure he’d forgotten—of the body spray Tamaki used to for their guests at the Host Club. It had been expensive and high quality, scented with some sort of flower, but nonetheless tacky and Kyoya remembered how he’d go on and on, an endless tirade, about how a host should always smell wonderful <em>‘like a spring day.’</em></p><p>“I see,” Kyoya muttered. He knew he should kick Tamaki out. Have him sleep in the guest bedroom, at the very least. Despite that, he made no effort to even move, much less force Tamaki away. <em>I’m too tired</em>, he maintained.</p><p>“How did your concert go?”</p><p>“Perfect as usual, Kyoya. Who could expect any less of such a talented, beautiful man such as myself?”</p><p>Kyoya huffed a snort of exhausted laughter, shifting around underneath the comforter.</p><p>“Cocky, are we?”</p><p>“Only with you, mon cher. I have to brag.”</p><p>Kyoya felt his heart still in his chest. <em>Mon cher</em>. That nickname Tamaki used to love to call Kyoya. He hadn’t heard that since high school. <em>Disgusting</em>, he thought when he felt thousands of butterflies, exploding in his stomach.</p><p><em>Mon cher</em>.</p><p>“I’m leaving in two days, Kyoya,” Tamaki whispered, voice rough and strained. “For the European leg of my tour.”</p><p>Kyoya didn’t move underneath Tamaki’s touch, didn’t say a word. He was leaving in two days, what did he expect Kyoya to say?</p><p>“Kyoya?” Tamaki tried again. Then, another low, breathy chuckle. He must have assumed Kyoya had fallen back asleep because the next thing he murmured as a painfully affectionate, “goodnight, Kyoya.”</p><p>Needless to say, Kyoya didn’t fall back asleep for quite sometime.</p><p> </p><p>Tamaki spent the next two days in Kyoya’s apartment. Kyoya never bothered asking why he didn’t return to a hotel or his own place that he surely had, given he lived part-time in Japan, because he knew that Tamaki would insist on staying over anyway. He’d say he was making up for lost time or something equally as cheesy and damaging to Kyoya’s quickly weakening psyche.</p><p>They had sex every night, sensual and brimming with ancient desires, and Kyoya, despite his best efforts, could feel himself growing dependent. In his older years, Tamaki had become more handsome and more skilled and Kyoya found himself not only not denying the actions but, irrationally, initiating them.</p><p>It pissed him off. </p><p>It was a Saturday night, the last night of Tamaki’s visit, his plane leaving for Italy at 10am the next morning and they’d just finished in the bedroom. Tamaki always liked to clean Kyoya up, teasing and saying it was a husband’s duty to take care of his wife (Kyoya always clicked his tongue at that, glaring, but accepting the washcloth to his face and chest anyway. He truly was growing into such a hypocrite) but after he was done, he’d left the room and disappeared.</p><p>Kyoya laid in the bed, back pressed against the sheets, staring at the ceiling, and waited for Tamaki to come back. He didn’t know how long he waited (long enough so that his breathing evened out, no longer harsh exhales and sharp inhales) but finally, he sat up.</p><p>Curious, Kyoya slipped on some underwear and one of Tamaki’s shirts, a white button-down, and nothing else, fumbling in the darkness.</p><p>His footsteps were light as he crossed the layout of his place but they reverberated against his hollow apartment walls and echoed mercilessly in the midnight air.</p><p>He checked the living room first. Then the kitchen. Then the bathroom and guest room but it was only when he came back into the living room he saw the back Tamaki’s figure through the floor-to-ceiling glass window, leading out to the balcony.</p><p>Tamaki was leaning over the railing, messy blonde hair whipping about in the wind. Kyoya let out a sigh, unable to quell the fondness that bubbled up in his chest no matter how much he wanted to.</p><p>He opened the balcony door with a <em>click, </em>sliding it open and being greeted with a burst of cool winter air, sending a harsh chill down his spine. He definitely wasn’t dressed for this, exposed legs prickling with already formed goosebumps as he shivered.</p><p>“Ah,” Tamaki exclaimed, turning around once he’d registered the presence of Kyoya behind him.</p><p>“Come back inside, moron,” Kyoya demanded, lacking any real bite behind his words. “It’s freezing. You’re going to catch a cold.”</p><p>Tamaki ignored him, turning back to the railing, clutching the metal bar tightly as if he was going to fly off if he let go.</p><p>“This view is amazing, Kyoya,” he mused, voice wistful. The sky was painted a dark blue, almost black, but the lights from the buildings illuminated it, dotting the skyline like bursts of energy. It was just the kind of thing Tamaki would love. “You can see all of Tokyo, practically.”</p><p>Kyoya snorted at that ridiculous notion. “Hardly.”</p><p>“Do you come out here often? It’s so romantic…”</p><p>“No, not particularly often,” Kyoya admitted.</p><p>“It’s like I can see everything,” whispered the blonde. “Like this is the edge of the world, with all the stars casting down on us.”</p><p>Tamaki was still such a hopeless romantic, always seeing some hidden, poetic meaning that Kyoya could spend his whole life searching for but never find. They were fundamentally different that way; Kyoya saw lights where Tamaki saw stars.</p><p>Kyoya took a few steps forward so he was standing right next to Tamaki. Maybe that difference is what made the two of them work back in high school— Tamaki was the dreamer who thought up all the crazy, romantic ploys the Host Club would participate in while Kyoya was grounded in reality, making sure they had the funds and means to execute his ideas— but now, Kyoya found himself doubting the two of them could ever keep going like this.</p><p>
  <em>This is what I get for indulging him like I always used to. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have invited him back into my life. I sh—</em>
</p><p>“Oh, Kyoya,” Tamaki murmured, fondly. “You’re shivering.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Kyoya snapped back, sarcasm dripping through chattering teeth.</p><p>Humming and wordlessly, Tamaki wrapped an arm around Kyoya’s shoulders, pulling him close. He ran his hand up and down Kyoya’s arm, rhythmically. The winter wind still thrashed about, cold seeping into Kyoya’s muscles, but, suddenly, he no longer felt cold. Just a numbing, aching warmth.</p><p>“Don’t act like this,” Kyoya whispered, so low he was sure Tamaki couldn’t here. “If you do, it’ll make it that much harder for both of us when you have to go.”</p><p>Tamaki glanced over at Kyoya. “Hm? What was that, Kyoya?”</p><p>With a light chuckle, Kyoya closed his eyes and tried to memorize this moment, just as he had the last time he heard Tamaki play piano in Music Room Three.</p><p>“No, it was nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Kyoya woke up at 6 despite it being a <em>Sunday</em>. He should’ve been in bed, well into noon on a weekend yet here he was, standing in his hallway, seeing Tamaki off.</p><p>“Thanks for everything, Kyoya,” Tamaki said, grinning with eyes that didn’t quite match his smile.</p><p>“Not like I had much of a choice in the matter,” Kyoya dismissed, tone even, “but don’t mention it. A small favor I can let slide, I suppose.”</p><p>A pause.</p><p>Kyoya looked into Tamaki’s eyes and he knew what the violet hue was trying to say. As they bore holes into Kyoya, he knew that, more than anything, Tamaki wanted him to say ‘<em>don’t leave’ </em>and <em>‘stay with me</em>.’</p><p>He knew that was what Tamaki wanted to hear but he couldn’t allow himself to say the words, no matter how much a small part of him wanted to as well.</p><p>It was a mistake letting Tamaki spend all this time with Kyoya but that was a mistake that would surely heal in time, for both of them. Anything more than that would not. If he allowed Tamaki to stay, he’d never want to let go and Tamaki deserved so much more than that.</p><p>He remembered Tamaki, hunched over, body shuddering and wracking with sobs, on the day of graduation, and Kyoya never wanted to see him like that again, it didn’t suit him. Letting him stay would only lead to that sight, once again. Kyoya was sure of it.</p><p>“Will you keep in contact?” Tamaki asked, a hopeful lilt edging at his tone.</p><p>“I’ll try,” Kyoya lied through his teeth. “You know how busy I am.”</p><p>“I know,” Tamaki murmured in response. Then, “Well… I guess this is it then.”</p><p>“I suppose it is.”</p><p>Tamaki leaned over and, for a split second, Kyoya thought Tamaki was going to kiss him. Actually, he was almost 100% sure that <em>Tamaki </em>thought Tamaki was going to kiss him but, right at the last second, they both pulled away.</p><p>Instead of a hurt, sad look that Kyoya was sure Tamaki was going to flash, he just looked resigned, a soft smile painted on his rosy lips. Like he’d known that moment was coming, all along. Like he’d been preparing for Kyoya’s rejection.</p><p>“I’ll be thinking of you, mon cher.”</p><p>And with that, he turned, opened the door and walked out of Kyoya’s life just as quickly as he'd walked back in.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the ending! i hope you enjoy &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days following Tamaki’s departure were painfully slow, almost like a personal form of torture designed specifically for Kyoya, as if he was being forced to atone for some sort of sin.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe he was.</em>
</p><p>Even Meiko-san noticed, nervously gnawing on her lower lip and asking Kyoya if he was feeling unwell.</p><p>“No,” Kyoya had denied, waving her off with a sickeningly pleasant smile. “Just distracted, that’s all.”</p><p>She didn’t press on after that and Kyoya was at least a little grateful for that.</p><p>He’d received a couple of texts from Tamaki, christening his phone with their newly exchanged contact information. They’d been simple, letting Kyoya know he arrived to Italy safely, showing him a picture of his hotel room and asking how Kyoya had been doing.</p><p>Kyoya only responded with curt, couple-word answered that definitely didn’t do enough to placate Tamaki.</p><p>And when he got back to his apartment, every day after work, he couldn’t stop seeing the blonde. He saw him on the couch, in his bed. It was like Tamaki was a ghost, his presence (or lack thereof) haunting Kyoya.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Following him around, darting away when Kyoya turned his head. </span></p><p>Six years it had taken to rid himself of painful reminders of Tamaki and, in only one 45 minute concert and three days, it sent Kyoya spiraling once more, like the mere child he used to be.</p><p>He started having dreams of Tamaki, too. <em>Horrible</em>. More like nightmares.</p><p>They’d start out with middle school Tamaki, extending his hand and smiling like an angel dropped from heaven, saying ‘<em>Kyoya, let’s start a club’ </em>before he’d morph into his high school self, naked as they made out against the Music Room Three walls.</p><p>Kyoya never got to know what happened next because he’d will himself to stop and, by some miracle, wake up, breathless, sweating and out of sorts.</p><p><em>It’s childish nonsense</em>, he tried his best to reassurance himself in between meetings at the office where his thoughts inevitably drifted to Tamaki or Tamaki’s whereabouts. <em>It’ll pass like it did before</em>. (He ignored the churning doubt inside him that said it wouldn’t. That said it was nothing like before, not even remotely similar).</p><p>
  <em>It’s better this way.</em>
</p><p>It wasn’t until, almost two weeks after Tamaki had left Japan, Kyoya returned home, fatigue wearing his muscles thin. He’d been running himself ragged as of late, desperate to busy himself from the incessant intrusive thoughts.</p><p>When he stepped out of the elevator, absentmindedly rolling his shoulder to rid of the soreness when he looked up to see a face he hadn’t seen in an eternity.</p><p>“Haruhi?” he asked, in disbelief.</p><p>He was sure his eyes were deceiving him but, when she looked up and those big, knowing brown eyes that saw through everyone’s farce met Kyoya’s, he knew. Despite her hair, longer and grown past her shoulders, and older face, features maturing to be drawn rather beautifully, he <em>knew</em>.</p><p>“Kyoya-san,” she smiled, warmly. She sat in the hallway, beside the door leading to his apartment, knees tucked to her chest. “Pardon the intrusion.”</p><p>“How’d you find out where I live?”</p><p>“Ah,” she grinned, looking a little sheepish. “Tamaki-san told me.”</p><p>Clenching his fist, he hissed, “That <em>idiot</em>.”</p><p>Leave it to Tamaki to go babbling personal information about Kyoya to everyone they knew. And, from the way Haruhi was gazing at him, he’d definitely told her about what happened between the two of them— their weekend of forbidden bliss.</p><p>With a resigned sigh, Kyoya ran a hand through his black hair, leaving it mused up. “Come in. Would you like some tea?”</p><p>Haruhi nodded, following Kyoya inside as he unlocked the front door and pushed it open.</p><p>Whistling, lowly, Haruhi scanned the apartment and said, “Nice place, Kyoya-san.”</p><p>Kyoya waved her off. “Take a seat, I’ll get the tea ready.”</p><p>Wordlessly, Haruhi plopped down on the couch and Kyoya made his way to the kitchen, wondering just how the hell they’d gotten to this situation, in the first place.</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">It seemed ridiculous and absurd and something that Kyoya should never be experiencing. </span>
</p><p>“Is green tea okay with you?”</p><p>“That’s good,” she called back.</p><p>“So,” he said once the tea was done, placing two steaming cups in front of them. “I heard you’ve become a lawyer.”</p><p>“Studying to become one,” she corrected, taking a cup in her palm, the steam dancing in front of her nose. “A defense attorney… like my mom was.”</p><p>“I’ll call you if I ever have a dispute,” Kyoya said. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t have picked up on the joke but it was Haruhi, Fujioka Haruhi who picked up on everything you put down, so an amused smile crossed her rosy lips as she closed her eyes, taking a sip of tea. The wisps of heat veiled her skin like a curtain of steam.</p><p>“Don’t do me any favors, senpai, we all know you have a whole army of legal figures that represent you.”</p><p>“That is true,” Kyoya mused. </p><p>“You’ve been busy, huh, Kyoya-san?” she asked after a beat of silence and Kyoya pretended like he didn’t know exactly what, or <em>who</em>, she was referring to.</p><p>“Yes. Long hours at the office. It’s fine, though, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”</p><p>“Don’t play dumb, Kyoya-senpai, it doesn’t suit you. We both know that’s not what I’m talking about. Tamaki-san told me all about your weekend together.”</p><p>Kyoya’s fist, curled tightly around the teacup handle, shook in anger and, though he hated to admit it, partly of shame, knowing that Haruhi had heard tales of his most vulnerable moments.</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">"I see...and, tell me Haruhi, <em>what about it</em>?'</span>
</p><p>“So what do you want, Kyoya-san?” Haruhi asked, gaze shifting from the ceiling to Kyoto to out the balcony window. Her voice was calm, rational, like she already knew Kyoya’s answer, Tamaki’s response and everything in between.</p><p><span class="Apple-converted-space">Kyoya could've laughed, sometimes it felt like every conversation he entered with her was a challenge. A battle for dominance and wit, jumping through hoops of each other's creation. He could've laughed but instead, he sighed</span>, staring down into the green tea in his cup.</p><p>A small, disingenuous smile graced his lips, tugging at the corners of his mouth unconsciously.</p><p>“I want him to find some girl to marry, someone that’ll put up with his childish whims and indulge him. Someone who’ll love him and he can be happy, start a family. He’s always liked those wailing monstrosities.”</p><p>“<em>Children</em>?” Haruhi supplied with a hint of amusement. She was quiet for a second after that, gathering her thoughts, before, in that small knowing voice, she said “I think you’re lying.”</p><p>Kyoya’s eyes widened for a second, once more finding himself floored by Haruhi’s innate ability to see through everyone, even when they, themselves, didn’t quite know.</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">The next three thoughts to enter Kyoya's brain fired in rapid succession: </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="Apple-converted-space">I was lying? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="Apple-converted-space">Was I lying?</span>
  </em>
</p><p><em>I </em>was<em> lying.</em></p><p>He was lying and he hadn’t even realized it; he’d been lying since the day he saw Tamaki’s name, printed neatly across the playbill (<em>no</em>, a voice deep down told him<em>, you've been lying since the day of graduation in Music Room Three. You've been lying since the day you met him</em>).</p><p>But it hurt. It scared him, shook him to his very core in a way only love and Tamaki could. When he closed his eyes, he saw Tamaki’s teary face, the agony in his voice as he begged Kyoya to stay. In the dead of the night, he could hear only the soft words that Tamaki whispered when he thought Kyoya was asleep.</p><p>
  <em>“I love you, Kyoya. Don’t leave me again, please.”</em>
</p><p>How could he make those promises? How could he keep them? To love him unconditionally? Tamaki didn’t deserve to put all his chips on Kyoya, who’d surely leave if given a more prosperous opportunity elsewhere.</p><p>Yet that desire didn’t die so easily, the same one that compelled him to ask Tamaki to come over. The same one that pursued a relationship, all those years ago, despite the undoubted certainty his father wouldn’t approve.</p><p>He was lying.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He was lying. </span></p><p><em>He was lying</em>.</p><p>He wanted Tamaki, wanted him more than most things that had crossed his path. And he wanted Tamaki in a way he wasn’t sure he could follow up on, a painless way with no tears. No agony.</p><p>“Interesting,” he mused, ignoring the erratic thrum of his heart, slamming into his ribcage at a million miles an hour. “And let's say I was lying; what do you suggest I do about it?”</p><p>Haruhi smiled back, tucking a strand of long, brown hair behind her ear and placing her cup of tea onto the table in front of her with a resounding <em>clink</em>.</p><p>“I’d tell Tamaki-san how you feel. As honestly as you’re capable of. Chances are, he won’t care about all this. He does love you, you know, so go get him, Kyoya-senpai.”</p><p>Then, a slow, easy grin spread across his face. He reached his pointed finger to slide his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, sitting up straighter. </p><p>“That’s an intriguing notion,” Kyoya huffed a bout of laughter, short and awed at Haruhi’s keen perceptions and advice. “In its own way.”</p><p> </p><p><em>This is crazy</em>, thought Kyoya, clutching the ticket in his hand so hard it might have ripped. <em>I must be delusional or something equally insane.</em></p><p>Despite traveling many places throughout his life, Kyoya was decidedly out of place.</p><p>After Haruhi had left with fleeting words of encouragement, Kyoya had booked a one-way, first-class ticket to Italy, packed his stuff and sent a note of absence to Meiko-san. Something wild overtook him, determined with tunnel vision unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.</p><p>Now that he’d admitted he wanted Tamaki, as long, drawn-out and painful the process had been, he couldn’t get the blonde out of his mind. Tamaki consumed his thoughts like never before, eating away at his mind.</p><p><em>Tamaki. Tamaki. Tamaki</em>.</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">The name fell in sync to everything Kyoya did. </span>
</p><p>And now, here he was, the weight of decisions finally hit him. Kyoya was a rational person, heads and shoulders above his peers in every school he’d gone to. He put meticulous thought into <em>everything</em> he did, organized and so, incredibly efficient.</p><p>So why was that skill failing him now?</p><p>Because here he stood, in front of Teatro Carlo Felice in <em>Italy</em>, for Christ’ sake, his tuxedo strangling all the air out of his lungs, armed with nothing but a ticket to Tamaki’s concerto and his slowly-weakening sanity.</p><p>He stepped in, taking a sharp breath of air. The only ticket that hadn’t been sold, the whole venue was practically booked out despite it being his fifth show, had been the most expensive one, right in the front.</p><p>People flooded in beside Kyoya, taking their seats with murmured chatter, electric and buzzing with excitement.</p><p>The lights dimmed and silence overtook the crowd. Tamaki appeared, looking just as handsome as he had back in Japan, tall and gorgeous and full of talent that could not be contained.</p><p>His eyes flickered over the audience, surveying the scene before they stopped, all at once, at Kyoya’s.</p><p>Kyoya felt his throat constricting, squeezing any available oxygen out of his lungs and betraying the blasé, unbothered front he’d put on, hanging on his face by the smallest thread.</p><p>Those wonderful purple eyes widened in realization and Kyoya was sure it had taken all his restraint to keep from saying anything, reaching out and calling for Kyoya. His movements were stiff, somehow able to tear his gaze away and walk over to the piano, sitting down on the bench, glancing over one last time.</p><p>
  <em>I’m not running away. I refuse to.</em>
</p><p>After a few seconds of lead up, music began to fill the wide hall, beautiful notes reverberated against the wall as Tamaki played, fingers flying across the keyboard as if a new passion overtook him, controlling his every action.</p><p>It took a second for Kyoya to realize, his normally-sharp senses dulled down in this new environment, but when he did, a wave of emotion he couldn’t quite place flooded into his chest. Crashed into him.</p><p><em>Mozart’s Symphony 40</em>.</p><p>Tamaki had said, that weekend that seemed like years ago, that he stopped playing Symphony 40, too many painful memories hidden beneath each line of music but, as the melodic notes filled Kyoya’s ears, he found that hard to believe. It was so polished, every beat so intentional, that Kyoya knew he’d lied.</p><p>And, selfishly, he wondered if Tamaki played Mozart’s Symphony 40 at home, alone with only the music cutting through silence to think of Kyoya. <span class="Apple-converted-space">He wondered if Tamaki played Mozart's Symphony 40 t</span>o be reminded of those days that felt like they could’ve lasted forever in Music Room Three where both nothing and everything met.</p><p>Foolish tears stung the corners of his eyes- <em>he really is talented</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The 45 minutes went by in a flash, a hazy blur of music and applause, it was over before Kyoya even fully registered what he’d listened to. He was frozen in his seat for a while, watching the empty stage with only a desolate piano before getting up.</p><p>He followed the crowd out of the main concert hall but, just as he was about to exit, a hand reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him towards the row of dressing rooms, hidden behind the stairwell.</p><p>It was Tamaki, eyes wide and wild. He wasn’t wearing his tuxedo jacket, only the vest and dress shirt showing. It was undeniably very attractive.</p><p>“<em>Kyoya</em>,” Tamaki said in a half-shout, half-whisper. His words were strangled, garbled with tears that dripped down his cheeks in what Kyoya could only assume was an odd combination of disbelief and pure, unadulterated happiness. “What are you doing here? God, I almost had a heart attack when I saw you! I could’ve <em>died</em> on stage, Kyoya, I could’ve <em>died</em>.”</p><p>“Your theatrics are making me regret coming this far,” Kyoya sighed.</p><p>Tamaki laughed, wet and pitiful, using the back of one of his hands to wipe the tears away. When Kyoya looked down, he realized Tamaki was still gripping his wrist, refusing to let go.</p><p>“Why are you here, Kyoya?”</p><p>Kyoya swallowed harshly, his adam’s apple bobbing beneath his bowtie.</p><p>“I guess you could say I was waiting to hear Mozart’s Symphony 40.”</p><p>Tamaki didn’t reply. Or maybe his reply was in the form of his lips, crashing onto Kyoya’s, thrusting the weight of his whole body older onto him. He tasted like sweet air, mouth full and soft and everything Kyoya had missed. Yearned for. Dreamed of in all the days he couldn’t taste those sickeningly sugary kisses.</p><p>The two of them went stumbling backward, Tamaki reached behind Kyoya for the doorknob to his dressing room, somehow succeeding in opening it and shoving the two of them in, kicking it closed behind him.</p><p>“Tamaki,” Kyoya managed to say between breathless kisses, soft-lipped and open-mouthed. In a frenzy, he’d reached up and grabbed Tamaki’s cheeks, cupping them firmly between his palms. “<em>Tamaki</em>.”</p><p>“Don’t leave me,” Tamaki begged once more, mashing his nose against Kyoya’s cheek, his words supple and vibrating against Kyoya.</p><p>Tamaki’s arms were linked around Kyoya’s slim waist, holding his body in place so Kyoya couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He didn’t think this was intentional on Tamaki’s part; maybe some innate, carnal desire to keep Kyoya there by all means possible. To not let him slip away again.</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Kyoya's didn't mind, though, not by any means. </span>
</p><p>They made out against Tamaki’s dressing room wall, somehow both hurried and leisurely at the same time. Tamaki’s hands were cold as they snaked underneath Kyoya’s dress shirt, his fingertips running up and down Kyoya’s sides and massaging the base of his hips, eliciting a soft whine from the otherwise composed man.</p><p>He’d managed to pull Kyoya’s belt off, discarding it on the dressing room floor.</p><p>“How’d you know I was here?” Tamaki asked after they broke apart for air, h<span class="Apple-converted-space">is breath tickled Kyoya's skin, huffing in shallow pants.</span></p><p>“The internet is a miraculous thing Tamaki, I—“</p><p>“Did Haruhi tell you? I told her not to talk to you.”</p><p>“She did.”</p><p>“Oh.” A moment of silence and Kyoya briefly wondered if that was the wrong thing to say before Tamaki spoke up again. “I wanted you to make your own decision, Kyoya. Come back to me if that’s what <em>you</em> truly wanted.”</p><p>A sudden flash of heat filled Kyoya’s chest as he pulled away from Tamaki’s weakening grip.</p><p>“And how about what <em>you</em> want? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”</p><p>“Sure it does,” Tamaki murmured, knocking their foreheads together, unfazed by Kyoya’s sudden, out-of-character outburst. When he exhaled, it was shaky. His voice wavered as he spoke, barely above a whisper.</p><p>“I want lots of things, Kyoya. I want to be young and beautiful forever,” Kyoya snorted at that but said nothing and let Tamaki continue, “I want to be the most famous pianist in the world, want to buy my mom everything she wants with my <em>own</em> money…and I want <em>you</em>. But I can’t have you if you don’t want me. I thought, if you truly did, you’d find your way back.”</p><p>“Well, I’m happy to say I’m here out of my own volition. Is that a satisfying enough answer?”</p><p>“It is,” Tamaki breathed out his words, like just saying them was enough to knock all the wind out of his finely-drawn frame. “<em>God</em>, Kyoya<em>, it is</em>.”</p><p>Kyoya kissed him again, passionate and feverish. Tamaki ran a hand through Kyoya’s hair, musing it up and making it messy but Kyoya found himself not caring.</p><p>They stayed like that for a bit before deciding that having sex on the floor of the dressing room would’ve been unsanitary and, in Tamaki’s words, <em>uncouth,</em> so they managed to pull away from each other and clean themselves up to at least look less suspicious.</p><p>They left the venue in a hurry, hands flying everywhere as Tamaki dragged Kyoya along, fingers intertwined and shaking, got into a cab and sped off to the hotel Tamaki was staying at.</p><p>The hotel was nice, expensive-looking and no doubt the finest place Tamaki could’ve stayed. His room overlooked the city, a big window opening up to old buildings that could’ve been the backsplash of a famous painting laid but Kyoya didn’t spend all that much time observing.</p><p>Instead, he and Tamaki collapsed onto the bed, the luxuriously large mattress groaning as they tossed around on it, stripping each other of all their clothes while refusing to break their kisses, lips tangling together and mashing against each other in the most pleasurably clumsy dance.</p><p>“You’re so handsome, Kyoya,” Tamaki said, lips pressed to Kyoya’s flat stomach, tongue dragging along his abdomen and navel.</p><p>Kyoya was greedy in almost every aspect of his life, he always wanted to be the best. Climb the highest. Have everything he desired, right when he desired it and being with Tamaki was no exception.</p><p>Now, fully emboldened through unthinkable acts of bravery, he finally (<em>finally) </em>allowed himself to relish in every single act of love Tamaki bestowed on him.</p><p>Selfishly, he hoped the blonde would bestow them on no one else because Tamaki was beautiful like a spring day, blonde hair like the petals of a sunflower, stretching towards the sky.</p><p>When he laughed, it was like the most intoxicating song to ever be played.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Melodic and addicting. </span></p><p>When he kissed Kyoya, it was like Kyoya was the only person on Earth that mattered to Tamaki, never to be replaced. He always knew the right amount of tongue to use, where the best places were to make Kyoya feel the most pleasure.</p><p>Everything he did was for <em>Kyoya</em>, to make sure <em>Kyoya </em>felt good. Had a good time.</p><p>It was odd and disgusting and Kyoya relished in it.</p><p>Kyoya was greedy, he got everything he wanted and now, after too many agonizing years, he could finally say that he wanted Tamaki.</p><hr/><p>“<em>I wish we could stay like this forever,” Tamaki had murmured. Outside the Ootori Estate, snow fell thick from the sky. It stuck to the window of Kyoya’s bedroom, obstructing any light from the moon from coming inside.</em></p><p>
  <em> They laid underneath the kotatsu, not moving from that spot for almost the full duration of their Winter Break. It had been their last winter break of High School; spring and graduation approaching rapidly. But that was far away, now it was still.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tamaki’s legs had been tangled around Kyoya, tucked under the warmth of the futon-clad table, hidden from the harsh winter chill that filled the room. His head rested right below Kyoya’s collarbone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> It was like a paradise of their own creation, a crevice carved out between the demands of everyday life and the pressures applied by their families.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Tucked away from the inevitable future, rushing up to greet them. </span></em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I can hear your heart beating, Kyoya,” Tamaki hummed. Then, he clicked his tongue in time to the steady beats of Kyoya’s hearts, lying just below Tamaki’s ear. “It reminds me of my metronome.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kyoya scoffed at the statement, laughable and untrue. “</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You don’t use a metronome, your tempo is irritatingly perfect.”</em>
</p><p><em> “Kyoyaa~” Tamaki whined, words petulant and drawn out. “I’m trying to be </em>romantic<em>!”<br/></em></p><p>
  <em>“</em>
  <em>Is that what passes as romance these days?”</em>
</p><p><em> “How can you say that to the King of the Host Club? The prince? Unthinkable </em>and <em>absurd! You wound me, Mommy-dear. ”</em></p><p>
  <em> “Will you every drop that idiotic nickname?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hmm…nope! Not as long as Haruhi is our dear daughter.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Have your delusions fully taken over or must I remind you, yet again, that she is not our daughter.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tamaki just laughed, a tinkling lilt of warmth cutting through the frigid air. His body burned where it made contact with Kyoya’s, skin tingling as they touched. It was still so unfamiliar, this closeness uncharted territory, but it wasn't unwelcome.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I wish we could stay like this forever,” Tamaki had repeated, once more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kyoya didn’t have an answer so he had only agreed, silently, though he knew how futile that wishful thinking was.</em>
</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">We don't have as many tomorrows as you think we do.</span>
</p><hr/><p>Basking in the afterglow, Tamaki’s arm hung loosely around Kyoya’s waist as they struggled to catch their breath. They laid on their backs, staring up at the ceiling fan whirling about as soft gasps filled the hotel room.</p><p>When Kyoya finally felt brave enough to glance over, a heavy pink flush dusted over Tamaki’s milky, unblemished cheeks.</p><p>When he noticed Kyoya’s gaze, he smiled—genuine and incredible. The kind of smile reserved only for those closest to him, where the edges of his eyelids crinkled and he showed off his pearly teeth in a soft, full grin.</p><p>Suddenly, at the sight of such a smile, that fear that once consumed Kyoya trickled back in, slowly. </p><p>He took a shaky deep breath before rolling over to fully face Tamaki, the side of his head burning where it pressed against the plush pillow.</p><p>“I’m not a good boyfriend, Tamaki,” Kyoya began, “I wasn’t back then and I especially won’t be now. I’ll put my work ahead of anything else, even you. If we pursue…<em>this</em>…I need you to know that dating me may just be setting yourself up for heartbreak again. I’m sure you don’t want that. And knowing that, if you don’t want it, as you have the right to, I’m allowing you this out if you’d like to take it. This decision. You should—</p><p>“Kyoya…” Tamaki interrupted, voice small but determined like nothing had ever been more clear in that deluded, blonde head of his. He reached out a hand to touch Kyoya’s cheek, running the edge of his thumb across Kyoya’s cheekbone.</p><p>The look that cast over his facial features could only be described as <em>fondness</em>, plain and simple. It made Kyoya’s stomach curdle in confusion.</p><p>“Are you going to break my heart again, Kyoya?”</p><p>Kyoya’s eyes widened, floored.</p><p>“You think I didn’t already know all that stuff about you?” Tamaki asked, between stifled giggles that erupted out of him, chest rising and falling quickly as he laughed. “You haven’t changed at all Kyoya! Even back then, it was all ‘club funds’ and ‘debt’ and whatnot. I still fell in love with you though, right?”</p><p>Kyoya didn’t move a muscle as he listened, stiff beneath Tamaki’s touch.</p><p>Tamaki’s voice softened, eyes folding into that <em>damn expression</em>. The expression that made it seem like Tamaki thought Kyoya put the stars in the sky, solved life’s greatest mystery or something equally as ludicrous.</p><p>“I don’t care about all that, Kyoya. You might think you’re some heartless corporate machine that’s destined to hurt me again and again but I know the truth. I know you love me. I also know that your work, <em>your destiny</em>, takes priority. But, even despite that I know, no matter what you say, you’re going to try.”</p><p>“Trying isn’t always enough, Tamaki,” Kyoya tried to reason, mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. But instead of the definitive statement he meant it to come out as, his words wavered like he, himself, didn’t quite believe his words. Slowly, one-by-one, his convictions and principles were crumbling leaving only him and Tamaki, laying in bed.</p><p>“Maybe not for you but it is for me. So I ask once more, <em>Ootori Kyoya-kun</em>, are you going to break my heart again?”</p><p>“No,” said Kyoya, in one painfully sharp exhale.</p><p>Tamaki’s face melted, his handsomely-drawn features furrowing into an undecipherable mess of affection. He leaned forward, just a few centimeters, to catch Kyoya in a swift kiss.</p><p>“I love you, Ootori Kyoya.”</p><p>Those words that Kyoya had never had the courage to say, daunting three words scarier than anything he’d faced in his short, 24 years of life. Scarier than his father's enormous expectations, scarier than the prospect of being the third son, his would-be destiny of only the leftover scraps of his brothers.</p><p>Scarier than falling in love for the first time with a <em>French boy, </em>for God’s sake, who played piano like he was born with ivory beneath his fingertips.</p><p>Tamaki and Kyoya were fundamentally different. Kyoya was grounded and realistic, ambitions almost as high as his will and his bank account. He was restless, worked tirelessly. Tamaki was whimsical and dramatic, loud in places where others were quiet. He saw the world through rose-colored glasses where Kyoya sought money and power.</p><p>They were fundamentally different and always had been but, in those differences. Tamaki offered him a chance.</p><p>And Tamaki was here, holding his hand, even in spite of all the pain Kyoya had inflicted upon him, shutting him out in the cold and refusing to see things through. His presence was unwavering and warm, a beacon of generosity and kindness that Kyoya <em>still </em>had so much to learn from.</p><p>And, suddenly, in Tamaki’s light, all those things didn’t seem quite so frightening. Even those three little words that held all of life’s vulnerabilities.</p><p>“I love you, Suoh Tamaki.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this was honestly so fun to write and i just rly love kyotama :')<br/>anyway, i really hope you liked this fic<br/>come scream at me on tumblr: @tetskuroo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>